


I Had A Talk With My Anxiety

by angel1876



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:33:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21776842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel1876/pseuds/angel1876
Summary: I had a talk with my anxiety yesterday.
Kudos: 1





	I Had A Talk With My Anxiety

I had a talk with my anxiety yesterday.

She cornered me, as she often does, creeping in close before making herself known.

Some days she is the demanding cry of a toddler. Others, she is a snarling beast with grasping claws.

Yesterday, she was a firm thing, cold and hard to the touch. Her gaze lingered, and her voice filled with command. “You need to apologize.”

We stared at each other. Her order clear, she waited for submission.

But yesterday I was brave. 

“Why?” I asked.

Her response came with curled fists and bared teeth. “You’ve been bad. You need to apologize.”

Still I stood there, backed into my little corner. “What have I done wrong, that I should be sorry? What crime is my repentance for?”

I could feel her frustration. It bristled between us, a fiery little crackle. 

“I don’t know,” she said. “You just need to.”

I frown at the notion, and my eyes sweep behind her, taking in the nothing beyond. “Who would I apologize to? There is no one here but you and I.”

“You need to say it.” 

She drew close then, closer than before. Her fingers dug into my shirt.

I felt her shake against my chest.

I brought my own hands up to rest over hers, and with as much sincerity as I could find within myself, I said, “I’m sorry you’re scared.”

She flinched away as if I had burned her. She clasped her hands together, as if to protect them from further harm.

I drew myself out of the corner to follow. I stalked her step for step in the same way she likes to stalk me. “I’m sorry you feel like you need me to beg. I’m sorry this is bothering you. I’m sorry you think you should be sorry.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” she snapped. 

“But how does it work, then? Do you want to apologize to everyone we come across for existing too hard? For drifting too close? For the very beat of our heart? That hurts them, and it hurts us.”

“They’ll get angry. They’ll tear us apart and make us be sorry if we don’t do it first.”

I took another step forward. It was my turn to back her into a corner. “Who’s they? Who, exactly? There is no one here who would wish us harm. No all-consuming force to bow to. No paternal deity to demand penance or submission. No communion by virtue of blood. Who would hurt us, then, for the crime of not prostrating ourself without cause?”

I reached for her, brushed fingertips over the length of her collar.

I was wrong when I thought of her as cold yesterday. While there was a certain chill to her, it was more than that.

Yesterday, my anxiety was a brittle thing. A creature, small and frightened, convinced by some creak in the floorboard or ghost of wind that her safety was in danger. I touched her, and I felt her break under my hand.

She clung to me as if to crawl beneath my skin, as if she didn’t already live there. She clung, and shook, and pierced the silent air with sobs of panic.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

I held her, tucked in close to my heart. I let her chant the words, instinctive as they were, like the curl of a pill bug. There’s little else I could do but try to reassure her and wait for the moment to pass.

And it did pass. It always does, even when the moment feels like it’ll continue on forever. The shivering eased. Muscles relaxed.

Exhausted, but no longer cowering, she returned to the fog she’d come from.

Not forever. Doubtless she will return, as she always does, and we will have this discussion again. There’s nothing wrong with that.

It is not a crime to exist. It is not a crime, either, to argue with anxiety. I stood up to her yesterday. Tomorrow, it may be she who stands up to me.

She is a part of myself that I need to put effort into living with. She is not a villain, she is not cruel. She’s just afraid, and sometimes I need to tell her that there’s no threat.

And that’s okay.


End file.
